A Shot In the Dark
by Izwick
Summary: Hilda Pertinax, Justin Lawson, and Alfendi Layton have for some time now been searching after the elusive Jigsaw Killer. Then, an anonymous tip changes everything, both in their quest to apprehend the killer, and in their own relationships.
1. Chapter 1

SHOT IN THE DARK

Chapter One.

Hilda Pertinax watched Alfendi from underneath her long lashes. The red-haired detective was once more berating a suspect, sticking a long finger in the poor man's nose. Slightly pudgy, balding John Titor was a suspect in the Lockwood murder case, and Alfendi, with his usual arrogance, had announced he was 99.3 % certain Titor was the culprit.

In theory, Hilda was assisting Alfendi on cracking the brutal murder case. In reality, she was relaxing in her chair, sipping tea, and watching Alfendi tear Titor apart. She had wondered, idly, if she should join in on the "interrogation", but she had long since learned that Alfendi was not one to welcome what he deemed "amateurish input", and so she remained silent.

"…And you thought you could get away with it, didn't you?!" snarled Alfendi, as sweat visibly poured off Titor's broad brow. "Hah! Brilliant though your plan may have been, elegant as its execution was, there can be no hiding your guilt from me! Come now, confess! It was _you_—"

A cheery trill cut suddenly cut through the air, interrupting Alfendi mid-stride. "What the _hell_ is that sound?!" He shouted, whirling on Hilda savagely. She pulled her pink mobile out of her pocket, and inspected it casually.

"Oh, it's Lawson, so just hold on a minute, Alfendi dear," Hilda flipped her phone open, and pressed it to her ear. "Hello, Detective Pertinax speaking. What is it, Lawson? We're just about to wrap up here… Really? Oh, that changes everything…You're sure? Hmmm… Well, Alfendi won't be happy, that's for sure. Alright. Toodle-oo."

"Did you really have to take that call?" asked Alfendi once she hung up, glaring at her with his odd yellow eyes.

"Yes, in fact, I did. Now, come on, I have something important to tell you…in private," she added, glancing at the still-sweating Titor.

After a few snarls and eye-rollings, Alfendi finally consented, and the two stepped out of the interrogation room.

"He didn't do it," announced Hilda, the moment the door closed behind them.

Alfendi only scoffed. "Oh, the blindness of you dimwitted idiots! Obviously—"

"No. Titor didn't do it. That was Lawson on the phone back there, and they just found a jigsaw piece at the scene of the crime. The Jigsaw Killer has struck again."

For a moment, Alfendi seemed lost in thought, his shaggy red hair falling over his eyes. But then he suddenly looked up, and leaned over to kiss Hilda on the cheek.

"Hah! Struck again, has he? Well, we're sure to catch him now, the evil genius! Oh the _skill_ in his crimes…"

With that, Alfendi rushed off, to doubt to re-inspect the crime scene, leaving Hilda with a hand musingly brushing her cheek. She had her misgivings about Alfendi, and sometimes she wondered if this…_association_ with him needed to end before something bad happened. But there was something so intoxicating about the pure energy that radiated from him, she simply couldn't bring herself to do so. Wondering where it would all end, Hilda finally followed after Alfendi, completely forgetting about poor Titor, who remained sitting nervously in the interrogation room.

Rich and eccentric Anthony Lockwood had been found dead in his ghastly mauve living room a day-and-a-half ago, laying in a pool of blood that had been swirled out in a spiral pattern. In his red bathrobe, surrounded by crimson petals of blood, Lockwood had resembled a grisly hothouse flower.

"Didn't see the puzzle piece at first because of the bloody awful mess," Lawson explained, in his usual gruff manner. He was standing next to Hilda, beefy forearms crossed, staring at the stain where the body had been. "It wasn't until after we moved the body that we saw it—and it was all soaked with blood."

Hilda shuddered delicately. She had been on the team that first inspected Lockwood's corpse, and the amount of blood had been truly staggering. Of course, the exsanguination of the millionaire had fascinated Alfendi, and had caused his first suspicion that the butcher Lockwood frequently purchased his meats from had been the one to kill him.

But Alfendi did not really seem bothered by the fact that he had been wrong. In fact, if anything, his ghoulish excitement had only increased when the Jigsaw Killer became involved. Now he straightened up from inspecting the bloodstain, and loped over to Lawson and Hilda, his eyes ablaze.

"Of course, my immediate conclusion is that this isn't the Jigsaw Killer, because the m.o. is completely different, but the brilliant thing about our serial killer is that he _has_ no predictable m.o., which is why—"

"Hold up," interrupted Lawson, pulling his mobile out of his pocket, and holding it up to his ear. "I have to take this call."

Lawson spun around and lumbered off to the other side of the room to have the conversation, while Alfendi stared at him suspiciously.

"Did you hear his mobile go off? Because I didn't," he muttered in Hilda's ear. She just rolled her eyes.

"He probably has it on silence mode," Hilda whispered back, and watched as Lawson's normally grumpy expression changed suddenly. He hung up, and walked back over to the two detectives, face serious—well, more serious than it had been.

"They know where the Jigsaw Killer is."

"What?!" Alfendi cried eagerly, grabbing Lawson by the lapels of his blue jacket. "Where is he?! Tell me NOW!"

"I…Forbodium Mansion… say, where in the bloody blazes d'you think you're going?!" stuttered Lawson, taken aback as Alfendi strode out of the room.

"I should think it would be obvious," Alfendi muttered, and slammed the door behind him.

Hilda sighed as she watched him rushed away. Why did it feel like she was always watching Alfendi leave? She couldn't keep running after him. Perhaps Alfendi he did blaze like a wildfire, but she would only get burnt if she continued to dance around the edges of the flames.

Lawson, however, looked rather peeved. "Don't you think we should head out after him? He's probably gone to confront the Jigsaw Killer. The Commissioner won't be happy if Layton goes out there alone, and you know it."

"Yes, yes, I know it," Hilda nodded, straightening her coat. "We'd better go before the poor darling makes a mess of the whole thing." She sashayed out of the bloody room, secretly pleased to be leaving it behind. Lawson followed rather more slowly, dark eyes scanning the murder scene one last time. As he left, a tiny smile spread across his face, but only for a brief moment.

_**A/N: If any of you have read/are reading my other stories, yes, I apologize for not updating. But honestly, meh, I wasn't feeling inspiration. This story, however, I wanted to write, so I am. This will be more than a one-shot, but I'm not sure for now how much longer it will be. It all depends, really. Anyway, I have never written a Mystery Room story before, having only recently become obsessed with it, so please tell me what you think! Incidentally, if there was any confusion, this story takes place during those events gone over in the final case of Mystery Room, so Lucy Baker is not yet a character. She may be at some point, though, in the future.**_


	2. Chapter 2

SHOT IN THE DARK

Chapter Two

Rain poured from the oppressively darkening sky, and dripped and slipped off Lawson's windshield wipers as he skidded around corners in his haste. Beside him, the Commissioner stroked his mustache nervously, muttering every now and again while glancing out the window. Hilda was curled up in the back, hands deep within her coat pockets.

She was worried. Constantly she reminded herself that they were on their way to catch the greatest serial killer of the century. There would be accolade, and there would be the satisfaction of knowing the world would be a safer place now the fiend was behind bars. But still, she worried.

It wasn't because the Jigsaw Killer, whose real identity was apparently Keelan Makepeace, could get away; backup was on the way, and the castle would be surrounded. It wasn't because there was a possibility any of them would get hurt. They were all trained officers, and could deal properly with any situations that might arise.

To be honest with herself, she couldn't even name the fear that heightened with every minute. All Hilda knew was that the same fear was affecting her companions as well. Commissioner's nervous twitching spoke to that, as did Lawson's constant staccato tapping on the steering wheel. Additionally, a part of her suspected the fear had something to do with the fact that Alfendi had gone on ahead.

Hilda tried to reassure herself by checking first her make-up, and then her gun. Oddly, these usual routines did not bring the comfort they usually, so she tried staring out the window at the passing scenery. But Lawson drove too fast for her to see anything, and the gloom of night was deepening by the second. Idly she wondered how Lawson knew the way to Forbodium Castle, but decided he had probably received instructions from someone earlier.

A minute or so later, Lawson abruptly took a sharp turn down a tiny, bumpy country lane. "We're nearly there," he muttered, slowing down a bit as they jolted over ruts. Forbodium Castle loomed into sight, massive, black, and crumbling. With a jerk of the steering wheel and a slam on the brakes, Lawson ground to a halt in the muddy driveway, right next to Alfendi's abandoned car, which stood silent and empty, and driver's door ajar.

Lawson, Hilda, and Commissioner scrambled out of their car, and ran up the cracked marble steps as quickly they could, partially to avoid getting wet from the pouring rain, but mostly because that unnamable panic was growing greater by the minute. After Lawson pushed open the great wooden doors, they dashed inside, and were swallowed by the darkness of Forbodium Castle.

Darkness had never bothered Alfendi, for it was in the shadows that lay the secrets he so loved to discover. Now, facing darkness itself, Alfendi was nearly ecstatic. He stood on top of the West Tower of Forbodium Castle, wind thrumming in his ears, rain pooling at his feet, and his gun pointed at Keelan Makepeace. Never had he felt so alive.

"You wouldn't shoot me," muttered the Jigsaw killer in a harsh grating voice, his own gun trained on Alfendi. Unlike Alfendi, who stood tall and straight, the serial killer was hunched over, head bent, eyes in shadow.

"Oh really?" Alfendi sneered, unwavering. "You think I would hesitate to take out the murderer of so many? Do you think me WEAK?!"

The Jigsaw Killer only smirked faintly, one side of his long mouth twitching upwards. "I think you naïve. Do you really imagine all police officers are good guys? Do you really think I'm the one who committed all those crimes?"

"I—what?" Alfendi hesitated for only a moment, his gun dipping slightly. Then a loud noise rang throughout his ears, and he stumbled, feet slipping in the puddles. Downwards he fell, slowly, as the world tilted and grew hazy.

A heavy weight settled on his chest as he lay, sprawled, on the wet ground. Water seeped into him, and blood poured, mingling with the rainwater. Then the world burned up in a blaze of pain, leaving Alfendi to wonder dimly how he could go out in flames while the storm raged above him.

_**A/N: Thank you, BrandishNo.2P, for your review, and I do hope you don't cut off my tongue. I'd hate to be an Avox. And thanks to my readers; remember, reviews/follows/favorites give me great joy. Pip-pip!**_


	3. Chapter 3

SHOT IN THE DARK

Chapter Three

Hilda was shining her flashlight in a dusty corner of Forbodium Castle when the shot rang throughout her bones. Beside her Lawson stiffened, while the Commissioner gasped in shock.

"What was that?" he whispered, flicking his flashlight upwards.

"Al," said Hilda softly, frozen in place.

But Lawson sprang instantly into action. "Come on!" he roared, caution to thrown pell-mell to the winds. "We have to find out what's going on. Hilda, take Central Tower, Commissioner, go into the courtyard, I'll take East Tower. Come on, hurry!"

They fled off in different directions, the Commissioner scurrying like a frightened rabbit, and Lawson bounding off like a giant hound on the scent of its prey. Hilda's heart beat in time to the sound of her footsteps racing up the circling stairs, while in her head a silent prayer repeated itself time and time again.

_Please be okay. Please be okay._

Makepeace slowly lowered his gun, his faint smile growing wider and crooked at the edges. The young detective lay crumpled face-first on the stone ground, arms flung out grotesquely. The Jigsaw Killer took a step closer, putting away his gun, and admiring the way the blood pooled out beneath the corpse, staining the water with its ghoulish tint.

Perhaps it was an odd taste of his, but Makepeace loved blood; the vibrancy of it, and its tangy copper scent held a beautiful poetry to Makepeace. So despite the rain plastering his fair hair to his temples, and the howling wind that cut through his jacket, he continued to smile.

He inspected the dead man with interest. Young, thin, and gawky, certainly. But there had been a gleam to the boy's yellow eyes that spoke to a spark of genius. Almost a pity, really, to extinguish it… Ah well, he thought, time to give this young detective a final present.

It was as he was reaching into his pocket to grab a slightly damp jigsaw piece that Makepeace heard the heavy footstep behind him. Even before he turned around Makepeace knew that he had been betrayed.

"Are you mad that I shot your protégée?" Makepeace asked softly, hands limp at his side.

"No," the Traitor said curtly. "No, it just means there are fewer loose ends to tidy up."

There was no shock when the bullet slammed into Makepeace's side, only pain, and the delicious sensation of blood blossoming against skin. It is fitting, poetic even, thought Makepeace, that I who have lived by blood shall also die by blood.

************************************************************************************

The echoing crack of the second gunshot pierced Hilda's ear just as she frantically dashed out onto the top of Central Tower, her usually immaculate hair now in furious disarray. Paying no heed to the rain that assaulted her, she rushed over to the parapets, just in time to Makepeace staggering backwards on the West Tower, clutching his side as blood trickled out between his fingers.

Oddly, the first thought that ran through her head was that Alfendi must still be alive, and he was pushing Makepeace back. There was a certain relief attached to this thought, but it evaporated immediately as Hilda realized that she had picked the wrong tower.

_I have to get over there_, she thought desperately, turning back the way she had come. Twice she almost slipped running down those precarious stairs; once, when the sound of another gunshot penetrated even the thick walls, and twice, when she remembered that Alfendi hadn't even said goodbye.

Hilda found the Commissioner at the stairway leading up to the West Tower, hacking down the barred door with an unexpected ferocity. Without saying a word she helped him clear the entrance, pulling aside the last shards of wood. Then they started up the stairs, Hilda leading the way, her face white in the darkness, and Commissioner panting behind. Both had their guns drawn, although both feared that guns were no longer needed.

She burst out onto the rooftop to see Alfendi laying in a swirling pool of blood and water only a few feet away from her. Hilda was faintly aware that the Jigsaw killer was lying dead on the other side of the rooftop, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She ran over to Alfendi's still form, feet splashing in the puddles, and crouched at his side, while Commissioner ran over to the Jigsaw Killer.

He'll catch his death of cold, lying out in the rain like this, thought Hilda inanely, taking his still face in her hands. His skin was still warm to the touch, but his golden eyes were lidded, and his skin deathly pale. With shaking hands she ran a thumb along his cold cheek, and moved his damp hair off his forehead. The fear that had for so long festered within her had finally found a name, but she dared not say that name out loud.

"How is he?" asked Lawson, who had just run out onto the rooftop, and to be greeted by the sight of his colleagues drenched in blood and rain.

"He's—" stammered Hilda, moving her hand over to feel for a pulse. "He's—alive! Al's still alive!"

An odd mix of emotions played out across Lawson's face, with relief winning out in the end. "I'd best call an ambulance, then. Otherwise he won't be alive for long."

_**A/N: WHOA, aren't you proud of me?! TWO updates in two days. More like a day really. I have never done that before, but I am loving writing this story. I don't know what that says about me as a person, though. Anyway…**_

_**BrandishingNo.2Pencils: yeah, I wanted the final confrontation a bit rushed because… I don't know, it just seemed right. Alfendi seems like the type who would love long confrontations, so I wanted him to be surprised when it was cut short. And as for the chapter shortness, I literally noticed that the last chapter was a bit too short right as I was uploading it. So, um, sorry… But oh well, this one is a bit longer, I think. Enjoy!**_

_**Glaciealis: Succinct. I like that.**_

_**So, conceivably, there could be quite a few more chapters to this, or only about three more. It all depends on reactions given. So read/review/favorite/follow! And thank you!**_


	4. Chapter 4

SHOT IN THE DARK

CHAPTER FOUR

Time seemed to trickle by slower than the rain that dripped persistently from the heavens, as Hilda clutched Alfendi's hand in her own. There had been a brief consultation as to whether they should move him out of the rain, but it was agreed that it would be best to jostle Alfendi as little as possible. So instead they all crouched around Alfendi's prone form, Justin holding his coat over Alfendi to try and protect him from the rain, the Commissioner pressing his jacket against the wound to try and stop the bleeding, and Hilda holding Alfendi's hand to try and prevent him from slipping away.

Every now and again Hilda's eyes strayed over to where Makepeace's corpse lay cold and forgotten. Later, Hilda knew there would be disbelief and even horror that Al could have just shot a man like that in cold blood, criminal or no. But for now, there was only numbness.

"When will the ambulance get here?" asked the Commissioner, the worry evident in his voice. "I'm no medical expert, but I know he can't hold on much longer."

Lawson looked over the castle parapets, eyes squinted in the rain. "The nearest hospital was in Brisbane, I think. Should take them about ten minutes, providing the roads are no worse. But… There's a possibility…"

Silence fell over them once more, as Hilda tried not to think of the possibility that the ambulance would come only to find their services were no longer needed. "Perhaps," Hilda finally suggested, her voice breaking slightly. "We should just take him in our car?"

But even as the words left her lips, she knew it would be impossible, and the shaking of the Commissioner's head only confirmed it. Their attempts to move Alfendi would be clumsy at best, and the chances that he would survive the drive to the hospital were slim indeed.

Suddenly, Alfendi's narrow hand twitched within her own, and Hilda looked down startled to see an expression of pain flicker over his pale face. "Shh, shh" she whispered uncertainly, tightening her grip on his hand.

Helpless was not a word that would normally be used to describe Hilda Pertinax. In a world of crime and injustice, she prided herself on being forceful, competent, and strong enough to deal with any situation. But now, watching the man she had come to consider her lover die before her eyes, Hilda felt utterly useless, helpless, and hopeless. There was nothing she could do to ease his pain, or prevent his passing. She lacked the spark to reignite the flame that was dying in the rain, and she almost hated herself for it.

"They're here!" Lawson bellowed suddenly, dropping his coat, and running over to the parapets. And indeed, even over the sound of rain pummeling the ground, Hilda could hear the piercing wail of approaching sirens. Funny how such a dreadful sound, one that like a murder of crows normally signaled disaster, could now bring such relief.

"Stay with him," shouted Lawson, dashing to the stairs. "I'll show them the way."

Hilda did not argue with this. "Hold on a bit longer," she murmured softly, brushing her fingers across Alfendi's knuckles, not caring that the Commissioner threw her a glance as she did so. Technically, relationships within the station were not sanctioned at all. Nonetheless, though Hilda suspected the Commissioner knew of their affair, he had never said anything at all, and so Hilda did not bother to disguise her feelings.

Shortly afterwards, Hilda heard many footsteps pounding up the stairs, and then a collection of medics poured out onto the rooftop, bearing a stretcher. One of them, who appeared to be in charge, immediately ran over to Hilda and the Commissioner, while motioning the stretcher over.

"Where's the point of entry?" asked the medic earnestly, crouching down to inspect the injured man. Wordlessly the Commissioner lifted the bloody jacket slightly to show him the bullet wound, and the medic nodded. "Right. You did well to try and stop the bleeding. He'd be dead otherwise. Now, I'm going to need you two to step aside, so we can move him on the stretcher."

With extreme reluctance, Hilda slowly let Alfendi's cold hand slip out of her own as she rose unsteadily to her feet. She and the Commissioner moved away, Lawson joined them, and they watched as the medics began lifting the limp Alfendi on to the stretcher, slowly and gently, while one of them kept the jacket still pressed to the wound.

Then they began carrying him away, while Hilda stared blankly, wondering if she could follow. The head medic lingered for a moment, and walked over. "You can follow us to the hospital, if you wish, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to ride in the ambulance. Sorry."

Lawson nodded understandingly, and the medic followed his team down the stairs. "Well, Hilda," said Lawson gruffly, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. "Shall we follow them?"

"You two go on ahead," the Commissioner said tiredly. "I'd best stay here and call for the coroner to get Makepeace's body. I can't just leave…it…here."

So they left him there, with Lawson's coat draped about his shoulders, looking small and very, very old. Hilda and Lawson raced down the stairs, no longer caring that the castle's musty interior was pitch black. By the time they made it out into the courtyard, the medics were just loading the stretcher into the ambulance and closing the door. They quickly climbed into their own car, and started the engine

Over the bumpy and twisting roads they followed the flashing lights of the ambulance. After a moment of silence, Lawson suddenly said: "Is there—is there family? Or anyone we should call?"

Hilda remembered vividly the day she had received a phone call from Alfendi's adoptive father. Apparently, the two of them were on rather stiff terms, but somehow Professor Layton had found out that his adopted son was seeing her, and had called Hilda, who had not previously been aware of his existence.

"Please," the Professor had said gently. "I know I have no right to ask you this, but would you look after Al? He never tells me if he's safe or not, and I worry constantly. Please make sure he's all right."

_I've failed him_, thought Hilda miserably. _I have failed both of them_.

"Well?!" asked Lawson again, impatiently.

"Oh! Yes," answered Hilda startled, and pulled out her mobile. "Yes, he has a… an adoptive father. I—I will call him." She punched the Professor's numbers in, and waited anxiously as it dialed.

"_Yes?" _answered a rather tired voice on the other end. "_This is Hershel Layton._"

"Er… Professor Layton? This is, um Hilda Pertinax… your son's…?"

"_Ah, yes, Hilda, how are you?_"

"Well, I'm fine," she said nervously, playing with a strand of damp hair. "But it's about Alfendi that I'm calling, actually."

"_Go on_," the Professor said apprehensively.

"He's erm, he's… There was a raid… we were on the trail of a serial killer, and… at this castle, and he, well, he went ahead, and we didn't—we couldn't—"

"_My dear_," he interrupted kindly, "_It would be better if you just tell me straight out what happened_."

"Al has been shot."

The Professor was silent for a moment, and then asked in a slightly shaky voice, "_Where is he_?"

"We've just arrived at the hospital… St Jude's, in Brisbane," added Hilda as they pulled into the parking lot. "They should be taking him into surgery now. You'd… you'd best come quickly. It's serious."

"_Ah… All right. Thank you for telling me. I'll… I'll be there shortly."_

"I'm sorry," whispered Hilda, but the line had already gone dead.

"Come on, let's go," said Lawson, killing the engine. "Do you want to maybe…clean up a bit before we go inside?"

Hilda looked down to see that there were spots of blood on her white skirt, and blood on her hands as well. But she only shook her head; normally, she couldn't stand to be seen with even a fleck of dirt on her clothes. Somehow, that didn't seem to matter now.

So Hilda and Lawson got out of the car and dashed through the parking lot, over to the General Admittance doors, avoiding puddles as they went. The nurse behind the admissions looked at them askance as they came through the doors, water dripping off their clothes, despite having been underneath the vomiting sky for only a minute.

"May I help you?" she asked, rising a pencil-thin eyebrow.

"Yes," gasped Hilda, stepping over to the nurse's desk. She put her hands on the polished wood, remembered that there was blood on them, and then thought better of it. "Our friend was just brought here… he was shot…"

The nurse's expression softened slightly as she turned to her computer. "I see. What is the patient's name?"

"Alfendi Layton."

After a moment of searching, fingers clacking on the keyboard, the nurse looked up with a frown. "There's no record of an Alfendi Layton here."

"Look here," blustered Lawson angrily. "They literally _just_ brought him in a minute ago, with a great gaping hole in his chest. Of course there's no record of him yet!"

The nurse, whose name according to a little placard was Meryl, considered this for a moment, and then sighed. "Very well. Just go sit in the waiting room over there, and I'll let you know of any further developments."

Lawson continued to scowl, but Hilda whispered, "Thank you!", and they walked over to the waiting room, which was completely empty save for themselves. They had only been sitting in the stiff, padded chairs for about five minutes when Meryl scuttled over.

"Okay, so I talked to a few people, and yes, an Alfendi Layton was brought into surgery a few minutes ago, but since there was no one to sign the admissions papers, he didn't show up on the computer. I'm afraid this is really a rather small hospital, and our technology isn't great." She added, sympathetically.

"Oh. Is he…okay?" asked Hilda, twisting her fingers in her lap.

Meryl shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no word on that, and probably won't until the patient is out of surgery. Now, it's best if a family member signs the papers. Are either of you…?"

"No relation," Lawson said brusquely. "But his father should be along soon."

"All right. Normally there's a little tea and biscuit shop open in the corner, but since it's so late… Well, I'll keep you informed."

Wondering idly what time it really was, Hilda glanced down at her watch to see that it was nearly one o'clock. No surprise then that her eyes were burning… Despite the tiredness that was finally seeping into her bones, Hilda remained sitting upright, subconsciously straightening her skirt, and putting strands of hair into place. She had to be ready.

Lawson, however, sat hunched over, chin resting on folded hands, eyes narrowed speculatively. He seemed to be lost in thought, and frowned occasionally.

Perhaps thirty breathless minutes had passed when an older man in an overcoat and top hat rushed in through the door, and over to the admissions desk. His face was simple and pleasant, but looked terribly worried, and as he began talking with Meryl, and signing papers, Hilda knew that this must be Al's father.

Once he was done with the papers, the man who must be Professor Layton walked over to Hilda and Lawson, taking off his hat as he did so. "Hello," he said quietly, with a trace of what must've normally been a warm smile. "I am Hershel Layton, and you must be Hilda Pertinax. And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Justin Lawson, and I work with your son," he said, rising to his feet to shake the Professor's hand. Hilda considered standing up as well, and then decided maybe not.

"It's good to finally meet the both of you. He mentioned you two on a few occasions…" he added, taking a seat opposite Hilda. "But I suppose he never mentioned me? Ah well. He was—_is_—very independent. Now, I'm sure you are both very tired, but if I may please hear the whole story?"

Gradually, in fits and starts, Hilda and Lawson told Professor Layton the whole story. Towards the end, Hilda faltered, and Lawson had to finish by himself. Once all the details had been told, the Professor leaned back. For a moment a deep despair washed over his features, but then resolved into a blank mask.

"I see… Thank you. For everything."

They both nodded, and silence once more settled over the harshly-lit waiting room. Hilda continued to glance obsessively at her watch, unable to match the reality of time to the scenario that replayed over and over in her head.

Was it really only that afternoon that she and Al had been interviewing John Titor? She remembered the sound of Al's fist thumping the table as he yelled, his golden eyes gleaming vibrantly. Then she remembered the reverberating gunshots, and Al's pale face, eyes heavily lidded.

Surely these were two separate events in two separate worlds. Surely the Alfendi Layton that now lay on the carving table, his life dangling like the last severed thread of a spider's web, was not the same cackling Alfendi who flamed and burned and left a trail of fire wherever he went. Surely, that Al was just waiting for them at the station, a sneering sarcastic comment all ready to fling their way the moment they stepped sheepishly through the door.

Surely she would see her Al again.

Surely.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Like synchronized clockwork creatures, Hilda, the Professor, and Lawson all looked up to see a rather short doctor with flaming red hair scurrying over to them.

"Hello, I'm Dr. DeGozaro. Which of you is Hershel Layton?"

"I am," the Professor answered, rising to his feet. Hilda and Lawson did the same. "And these are friends of Alfendi. Whatever you have to tell me, you may tell them."

"Very well," the doctor nodded, and folded his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid it was rather touch-and-go with the patient for a while. We lost him twice, once in the ambulance, and again on the operating table. However, both times we were able to resuscitate him. Now, as to the injury; we removed the bullet, and while the damage caused by it was severe, it was not extensive. Two ribs were broken, but we set them, and the wound was stitched. The patient lost quite a bit of blood, and is suffering from shock. He seems to be on the road to recovery, but we'll have to wait for sure. I will be able to tell you of any further repercussions if and when he awakes."

Professor Layton nodded seriously, then blinked. "Wait. _If_ he awakes?"

Dr. DeGozaro sighed. "Yes. Partially thanks to the shock, and partially to the blood loss, your son has slipped into a coma. It remains to be seen if he will ever come out of it."

_**A/N: Well, that was a bit longer of an update, for which I apologize. There was a death in the family, and things were rather chaotic for a while. But, here is the chapter, and to make up for the wait, it is nearly twice as long! Now, two disclaimers: 1. I hate hospitals, and really know very little about them, so I apologize for any glaring inaccuracies. 2. I have never played the original Professor Layton games, so all that I know about him comes from research online. I do hope he is not too OOC. Thanks to BrandishingNo.2Pencils, and as always, please review/follow/favorite! Toodle-pip.**_


	5. Chapter 5

A SHOT IN THE DARK

CHAPTER FOUR

It had been four days. The rain had ceased, and the ground was dry once more. Somewhere in a mortuary the feared Jigsaw Killer lay silent and cold on a slab. And in a hospital room, surrounded by tubes and wires, Alfendi Layton lay dead to the world.

But though his quick hands were still, and his feverish eyes closed, a part of Alfendi was still running, deep in the labyrinthine corridors of his mind.

_So long. For so long he had tried to outrun the cold. The long chilly fingers of frost that clutched and grabbed at him, freezing his soul. Upstairs and down stairs he raced, fleeing the winter. Past vignettes of a lonely childhood, memories that were one by one swallowed by the frost._

_There seemed to be no shelter in the castle of his mind. No defenses to protect himself. Until, after so long, he came upon it. The darkest corner of his mind._

_Panting heavily, he dashed into the black room, and slammed the door shut behind him, fastening the lock. He sank down to the stone floor as the cold hurled itself against the door. But it couldn't get through. Though the wooden door creaked and groaned, it did not give. He was safe._

"_Hah!" he crowed triumphantly. "You can't take me, I will burn forever!"_

_It did not take him long, however, to realize that his sanctuary was also his prison. The dark room was tiny; four black walls, a stone floor, and a smudged mirror. Several times he went to gaze at his reflection, only to find that the mirror was too dirty to see anything but a few shadowy glimpses._

_And there was nothing to do. He dared not go out to face the cold, so he sat in a corner of the tiny room, fingers tapping the hard floor, mind wheeling in chaotic patterns. How now, brown cow? Left, right, day, night. With nothing better to do, he recited the periodic table, went through prime numbers, and counted pi for hours straight without stumbling once. He said hello in five different languages and the said goodbye in five more. One by one he listed the countries of the world, and then did it backwards._

_But he was still so_ bored_. And eventually even he, the great Alfendi Layton, would run out of lists and theorems and names, and there would be nothing left but rolling echoes. And he wondered, when that happened, would he go insane?_

_That was when he heard the voices._

"I wonder if he can even hear us," Hilda said to the empty air, sitting in a chair by Al's bed. Outwardly, she was much recovered from the events of four days ago. She was dressed in an immaculate skirt suit, her hair was coiffed neatly, and her make-up was, if not subtle, then at least tasteful.

Inwardly, she felt as though she were crumbling to pieces. Although the Commissioner had said she could take some time off, she went back to work immediately, only to find that her mind was too scattered to solve even the simplest problem. Try as she might, her thoughts kept drifting back to that night, and the terrible things that had happened.

Every spare moment she had, she spent at the hospital, and she always went away feeling a little worse. It such a shock, seeing Al the way he was now. Only a few days after the shooting, he already seemed thinner, and hollow-cheeked. His hair was limp, and seemed faded, and shadows lurked beneath his perpetually closed eyes. And he was so frightfully still. If it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, assisted by machines, she would have thought him dead.

And perhaps he was dead, and they just didn't know it yet.

A door opened, and Hilda looked up, startled to see Justin striding into the room, his face tired and worn.

"You been here long?" he grunted, collapsing into a chair. She simply nodded, and he sighed.

"Look, you go on home. I have a book to read, so I'll just stay here for a bit. And of course, I'll let you know if… if you need to come back."

She was so tired. A stronger woman might be able to stay there all the day, by the side of a man suspended in motion, but she could not.

"Thank you," Hilda said wearily, rising from her chair, and collecting her things. I will be back, she promised Al. I'm leaving you in good hands. I will be back.

Hilda left the hospital room slowly, shoulders hunched, and Justin watched her go. Once she was gone, he opened up the pages of his book, and began reading aloud in a calm, steady voice. He, too, hoped that his voice could be heard by the comatose Alfendi.

_At first, the voices were faint and far away, and like the frost they could not seem to penetrate the black room. Alfendi wasn't sure if that was a good or not. Then, one of the voices vanished, and the remaining one grew in strength, until it began seeping into the walls, turning them a sickly red._

_Alfendi stood up, and leaned into the wall, intrigued by this new development. But though he strained his ears, the voice remained indistinct, and he could not make out the words. Still, the dark tone of them crawled into his heart, and festered there, creating a doubt._

"_Get out!" cried Alfendi, and cast the doubt away. "That is not what happened!"_

_He cupped his hands over his ears, and strode about the room, muttering furiously, trying to block out the insidious voice. And after a time, it stopped. Cautiously he lowered his hands, only to be met with ringing silence. In relief, he walked back over to his corner, only to be stopped by a glimpse of something odd._

_It was the Doubt. There it stood, in the mirror, wearing his face. Only, it wasn't quite his face. Alfendi took a step closer to the mirror, staring at the Doubt. It was him, but it wasn't him. The expression on its face was one of calm patience, not furious energy. Its golden eyes were subdued, quiet, not blazing. It was unnerving._

_Alfendi raised a hand, but the Doubt did not copy his actions. Instead it just stood there, and gazed at him expressionlessly._

_Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore._

"_Stop looking at me, filthy cur!" he snarled, and spun away from the mirror in a rage. When he glanced over his shoulder, the Doubt was gone._

_Shaking slightly, Alfendi sat back down in his corner, and began reciting pi, trying to calm himself. But the Doubt had left an impression._

_Eventually, the voices came back. Alfendi learned to distinguish one from the other. There were the vague, impersonal voices whose words were empty. There was a tired female voice, with pain layering her words. And there was the insidious voice, whose calm words always managed to penetrate the black room, and turn the walls red. And when it left, the Doubt appeared._

_And one day, the Doubt opened its lips, and began to speak, in a voice that would have been so like his own, were it not for the underlying tone of placidity._

"_You seem upset. Is there a reason for that?" it asked, but Alfendi did not favor it with a response._

"_Did you do something wrong?" it tried again, and this time Alfendi looked up, scowling angrily._

"_Something wrong?! Are you ignorant as well insolent? Of course not! I am the great Alfendi Layton, and I do not make mistakes!"_

"_We bear the same face, so when you insult me, aren't you insulting me?"_

_Alfendi quickly shook his head._

"_NO! We are not the same! You are not me!"_

"_Who am I, then?" it asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. But the question unsettled Alfendi, and he did not answer. After a while of silence, the Doubt faded away._

_But the insidious voice came back again, and so did the Doubt, bringing new questions with it._

"_Where are we?" was the first thing out of its lips._

"_Well, my mind, I suppose," Alfendi answered grumpily._

"_Rather gloomy, isn't it," the Doubt said critically._

"_Shut up! You don't even belong here!"_

_The Doubt sighed, and peered out of the mirror._

"_You seem so upset all the time. What happened? Did we do something wrong?"_

"_I—we?! There is no "we"! And no, I didn't. There was a killer, and…so much rain…"_

"_And what then?" the Doubt asked, and its face was pale._

"_Gunshot," answered Alfendi. There was more to it than that, but he was tired, and was done talking to the Doubt._

_Time passed, or maybe it didn't, and the Doubt was there more and more often. Sometimes they talked calmly. More often they argued about trivial things. But with every conversation, the same question would come up: what happened that night?_

_At first, Alfendi found excuses to evade the question; he was tired, or the Doubt was annoying, or such questioning was beneath him, et cetera. But eventually he was forced the reality. He wasn't answering the question, because he couldn't._

_Only bits and pieces of that night remained. Torrents of rain, and sticky blood, the smirk on Makepeace's face, and the anger in his heart. And the pain, and the coldness, and the vague memory of a hand clutching his own._

_But as to what exactly transpired, he could not say. Of one thing, though, he was sure. He had not killed Keelan Makepeace. He was _not_ a killer._

"_Are you sure, though?" the Doubt continued to ask, the worry clear on its face. "There's such rage in us… what if we did?"_

_Always the "we". Alfendi hated it. This pale imitation was not him, and to insinuate so was an insult. Sometimes he almost wanted to kill the Doubt, but then other times, he remembered how dreadfully lonely he had been before the Doubt came._

_And then there came a day when things were beginning to change. The voices were clearer now, and so close that Alfendi could almost make out whole words. And the frost was gone. He was sure of it. Perhaps… he could leave?_

"_I am convinced of it," said the Doubt suddenly, interrupted Alfendi's thoughts. "We killed Keelan Makepeace."_

"_WHAT?!" shouted Alfendi, leaping up to his feet. "No, we did NOT. Are you insane?!"_

"_No," said the Doubt, his face white. "You're only lying to yourself. We killed him."_

"_No, we did not!"_

"_Yes, we DID!" yelled the Doubt, shocking Alfendi into momentary silence. He had never heard the Doubt raise its voice before. Then, a horrible rage burned in him, and he smashed his fist through the mirror._

_The glass shattered, and fell to the ground, breaking into a thousand shards. Alfendi stared at the broken glass, then looked up, to that the Doubt was still standing there. Only now, he was real._

"_I wondered if you would ever let me free," said the Doubt, stepping out of the empty frame, and past a stupefied Alfendi._

"_But—but…you're not real!"_

"_And why can't I be?!" cried the Doubt suddenly, wheeling around to face Alfendi. "I'm just as much you as you are! And you are being a coward, hiding here, and refusing to face up to what we did. So I'm going to go do it for you."_

"_I am not a coward! I kept us alive! I outran the frost, where you would have tripped, and died!"_

_But the Doubt did not listen, and went to test the locked door instead. _

"_If you are a coward, then I suppose I am, too. Still, I refuse to stay here a moment longer. I'm going to go tell them the truth."_

_And with the Doubt opened the door, stepped out, and closed the door behind him._

"_But it's not the truth!" shouted Alfendi, rushing over to the door. "It's a lie! You can't do this!"_

_Frantically, he tried to open the door, fingers slipping on the knob, only to find that it was locked from the outside._

"_Wait, no, come back! Let me out, please! Don't leave me here!"_

_He banged on the door, until his knuckles bled, but there was no answer. Slowly he sank to his knees, and rested his head against the wooden door. He was trapped here, all alone. A cold despair settled over his heart. He was all alone._

_**A/N: Well, I hope all the italics weren't too confusing for anyone. They are to represent Alfendi's thoughts while in a coma, and I don't know how possible such thoughts are, but oh well.**_

_**Brandishing No.2 Pencils: Ah, I'm so glad I didn't muck it all up. There will probably be a bit more medicalish stuff, so let me know if I make any mistakes! And as always, thanks for reviewing **_

_**Anon9886: So glad you are appreciative!**_

_**That's all for now folks. Although I must say, this chapter was rather hard for me to write. I feel so bad for Al. Well, enjoy anyway!**_


	6. Chapter 6

A SHOT IN THE DARK

CHAPTER SIX.

"I killed Keelan Makepeace."

Al's first, whispered words slapped Hilda in the face, and she almost reeled from the shock. The joy she had felt at coming into the room and seeing Al's golden eyes open began to diminish at this revelation. Not the fact that he had killed Makepeace; she already knew that. Why, she had seen Al advancing on the already injured Makepeace…hadn't she?

Anyway, that wasn't what bothered her. Makepeace was a horrible man, and deserved what he had coming. What bothered her was the fact that Al had admitted to killing him. Al who refused to admit that he sometimes stole her lunch. To admit that he enjoyed her company. To admit that he loved his father, despite his reluctance to ever bring him up.

And now, he had admitted this huge thing, and he had admitted it with shame. She could almost imagine him confessing to it later, with a sort of boasting attitude. "Makepeace? Oh yes, I had to kill him. Not much of a threat in the end."

But this Al, laying in his hospital bed surrounded by fluttering nurses, was the furthest thing from boastful she could imagine. So pale, so tired, and so…apologetic.

"I…I hope…you can forgive me…" Al murmured, his eyes already drifting shut.

"I'm afraid he'll be very tired for the next couple of days," one of the nurses whispered to Hilda, as Al fell asleep.

"Oh…yeah, right. No, that's fine, I'll…I'll just wait outside, then. And you'll let me know when he wakes up again?"

Having received the nurse's assurance, Hilda strode out into the hallway, telling herself not to worry. _He'll be fine. This _is_ Alfendi Layton we're dealing with here. He probably just…just…_ The thought trailed off as she sat down in one of the chairs outside his door.

She shouldn't dwell on it. She should be glad. She _was_ glad. They had begun to think Al would never wake up at all, and now here he was, alive, and, if not well, at least recovering. Despite his rather odd behavior, her Al was awake, and that was what mattered.

With that in mind, Hilda remembered suddenly that she wasn't the only one who had been lurking around the hospital like a frightened shadow. She quickly pulled her mobile from her purse and dialed the number she had so recently added to speed-dial—Professor Layton.

He answered on the first ring. "_Hilda, how are you_?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Professor, thank you. But the reason I called is…Al woke up."

Utter silence met this, and for a moment Hilda wondered if the Professor was alright. Then suddenly, he said, with a shaky voice, "_Oh…oh, thank goodness…my boy! He's awake! I had begun to think…Oh, Hilda, how is he? Is he okay? Can I come see him?_"

Hilda smiled in spite of herself; the Professor's joyous relief was infectious. "Well, he's sleeping now. The nurse said he would be quite tired for a while. But I spoke to him, and he…well, he seemed a bit…" Hilda found she didn't quite know how to put it in words without scaring the Professor.

Fortunately, he didn't seem too worried. "_Don't worry, sweetheart. Al has always been a bit…unpredictable. You stay by his side, and don't worry. Everything will be all right now. And I'll be over as soon as I can._"

She said her goodbye to the Professor, feeling a little better, and then rang up Lawson.

"Justin! Good news, he's…he's okay. He's awake."

"_And?_"

"And what?" asked Hilda, a little confused.

"_Did he say anything? I just want to make sure his brain functions are all still there,_" Lawson added.

"Oh, right, yeah. Um, actually, the first thing he said was 'I killed Keelan Makepeace'..."

"_Really? Wow…_" Lawson let out a long sigh. "_He definitely admitted that? Wow. Okay, I'll be there soon._"

True to their word, Professor Layton and Lawson showed up soon enough, and the three of them sat outside Alfendi's room, waiting for him to wake again. In previous times, their vigils had absolutely silent and still, as though at a wake.

Now, the news that Alfendi would be okay loosened their tongues, and they began to exchange stories. Professor Layton told them about the time little Alfendi had smashed every single vase in the house, just to see what kind of sound the breaking glass would make.

Lawson, with a grin, reminisced about the first case he and Alfendi had cracked together, and how, after correctly accusing the murderer of the crime, Alfendi had been chased around by the murderer with a carving knife, while Alfendi yelled and yelled about how foolish the man's alibi had been.

And Hilda told them how, on their very first date, Alfendi accused their waiter of pick-pocketing his customers. Alfendi then spent the rest of the evening finding proof to support his accusation, while Hilda sat and listened, a little annoyed, but mostly amused.

Actually, that more or less summed up her general attitude towards Al. A little annoyed, but mostly amused. And, perhaps, a little in love. Maybe even a lot. So when the nurse poked her head out the door, and told them that Al was awake, she firmly squashed any remaining traces of her previous misgivings. All would be well.

And she believed that, right up until she walked into the room, and saw the soft, gentle way in which Al's eyes lit up at the sight of his father. It would have been charming, sweet, to see the joy on Al's face, except it was so very, very wrong.

"Dad! Oh, dad…I'm so sorry…I killed him…I'm so…sorry—"

"Shhhhh, hush, hush, Al, it's okay," Professor Layton murmured, sitting by his son's side. "You don't need to apologize. Everything's okay."

"But, dad…I…"

"Shh, now, it's okay," Professor Layton comforted, holding his son's hand. But then he glanced over at Hilda, and she saw it, the same uncertainty in her eyes, mirrored in his own. She glanced over at Lawson, whose face was impassive, as though trying to hide something great. That was it, then; they all felt it. There was something wrong with Alfendi.

...

Alfendi was confused. There was something deeply, deeply wrong with him, and he couldn't quite figure out what. It wasn't the fact that he felt out of place in his own exhausted body; it wasn't the prevalent feelings of guilt and shame that weighed him down.

It was the way they looked at him now, his father, Hilda, and Lawson. It was the question in their eyes when they looked at him, as though they no longer quite knew who he was. And it was the whisper that sometimes invaded the back of his mind.

He had talked to himself before, because sometimes he was the best company he could find. But this was different. This was a tiny angry voice that yelled for him to stop, that he was doing it wrong. And sometimes, when his father had to go back home, and Hilda and Lawson were off working, Alfendi would lay in his hospital bed, stare at the blank ceiling, and tell the little voice to shut up.

It never did, though, and eventually Alfendi learned to ignore it. But still, he could not quite get rid of the fear; the fear that he was irrevocably broken, and never again be whole. 

_**Ugh, I'm sorry, guys. I haven't updated in a while, and now when I do, it's nothing but filler. I mean, everything that happened in this chapter is stuff that needed to happen to move the story forward, and so it was necessary, but…yeah, sorry. Hopefully the next chapter will be a little more exciting. Anyway, huge thanks to Awesomest99er for the reviews, you rock! Please continue to read/review/follow/favorite, everybody! And, as always thanks for reading.**_


	7. Chapter 7

A SHOT IN THE DARK

CHAPTER SEVEN

After throwing an impatient glance at the clock, Hilda pushed her chair back from her desk, grabbed her coat, and strode purposefully out of the quiet station. It had been a long, busy day at work, and all Hilda really wanted to do was go home, and curl up on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine. What she needed to do was another thing entirely.

Al had not gotten any better. Well, in a certain sense he had; they had let him out of the hospital about two weeks ago, and they said he should be able to get back to work eventually. But while physically healing, there was still something very off about Al, and tonight Hilda was determined to get to deal with this new, strange Al, and what it meant for their relationship.

So Hilda flagged down a cab, and gave the driver Professor's Layton's address in a firm, unyielding voice before she could change her mind. Having visited Al quite often since he got out of the hospital, the route to his father's house had become quite familiar to Hilda, and her eyes glazed over as she stared out the window at the fleetly fleeing houses.

What was she going to say? What was she going to _do_? Flashing glimpses of half-played out scenarios played through her mind, punctuated by shouted words and imagined kisses—for while Hilda predicted the night would not end well, she dared to hope that a well-turned phrase would somehow restore Al to previous state of passion.

And it was not impossible, Hilda reminded herself, as she stepped out of the cab in front of Professor Layton's attractive brownstone house. "Thank you," she murmured vaguely to the cab driver, after paying him, and then slowly began walking up the steps to the front door, her shadow dancing behind her. She rang the front doorbell, and took a deep breath as the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. She could do this.

__-oO~Oo-__

Alfendi watched, faintly entranced, as fading sunlight slipped softly around the curtain edges. He was laying on the couch, a half-read book held loosely in idle fingers, and, oddly, he was at peace. He still felt rather like he had recently been run over by a truck, and the nightmares—both of That Night, and the little black room in the corner of his mind—were still bad. And yet, Alfendi felt more peaceful and calm than he really ever had.

Yes, the eerily-familiar voice still haunted the back of his mind, but that was okay. There were other voices to keep him company—namely, Justin and Hilda, and his father. His father…a smile spread across Alfendi's relaxed features at the thought of his father, who had been so kind to him. Despite all the times Alfendi had been ungrateful to him the past, his father had still insisted on taking care of Alfendi during his convalescence.

Just then, the trill of the doorbell rang through Alfendi's thoughts, and he slowly rose from the couch, making his way painstakingly to the door. Hilda stood upon the front step, her golden hair crowned by the setting sun.

"Come in!" Alfendi exclaimed delightedly, stepping aside to let her in. He did not even notice the distraught expression on her face. "Good to see you, Hilda, thank you for stopping by! Now, how are you?" he asked, resettling himself on the couch, while Hilda took a seat in the chair opposite him.

"I—I'm fine. And you are…improving?" without waiting for an answer, Hilda plunged straight ahead. "Listen, Al, I need to talk to you."

He nodded calmly. "Certainly. What I can do for you?"

Across from him, Hilda's hand played nervously with her handbag, and her eyes flickered about the patterned carpet, as if seeking a distraction. Finally, she said, "Well, I don't know how to say this any other way, but…Al, you've changed. What's wrong? Are you okay? Did—did I do something wrong?"

"Wha-? No!" said Alfendi, blinking, startled. "Of course you did nothing wrong, Hilda."

"But…but what happened, then?"

Alfendi stared at her blankly. "I don't understand."

Now she seemed upset. "You're so different now! Before, you would have yelled at me the moment I opened my mouth, but now…"

"Yelled at you? I would never do that!"

"That's just it," nodded Hilda wearily. "_You_ wouldn't. But the real Alfendi would have. The real Alfendi would have yelled and shouted about how naïve I was for even worrying, and I would have yelled right back, and then, after more screeching, we would have kissed. Al. You have not kissed me since that night."

A faint blush spread across Alfendi's cheeks. "I wasn't sure…I mean…" he stammered, but Hilda just shook her head.

"You aren't sure, and that means you aren't the Al I knew, and you definitely aren't the Al I fell in love with. And so…I…" Hilda paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "I'm breaking up with you. I can't date a stranger, so…it's over. I am sorry about what happened to you. I truly am. But I can't do this anymore. So, goodbye."

Hilda rose to leave, her face a tightly controlled mask. "Wait, Hilda, stop!" cried Alfendi getting shakily to his feet. "It's still me! I'm still Alfendi, and I still love you."

"Oh, really," she said, whirling around to face him, her eyes blazing. "How sure are you that you love me? Hmmm? Tell me."

Looking down at Hilda, Alfendi faltered. "I… 83.6%. I am 83.6% sure that I love you, Hilda Pertinax."

"And I am 100% certain that I do not love you, Alfendi Layton. Good evening." With that, Hilda spun away, long blond hair swaying in her wake, and Alfendi watched in horror as the door slammed shut behind her. Suddenly, he collapsed to his knees, as a clamor erupted in his head.

"What did you _DO?!" _roared Al, and Alfendi flinched away in fright.

"Nothing, nothing, I…" he stammered, but Al drowned out his feeble voice.

"Nothing?! _Nothing?!_ You let the woman I love walk away, with nothing but a pathetic excuse? HOW DARE YOU."

"It wasn't my fault—"

"Oh, reeeaaaallllyy?" sneered Al, his expression contemptuous. "This WHOLE thing is your fault, you sniveling perfidious worm. You're nothing but a lousy, lying, back-stabbing, body-snatching, mewling, quivering slimy excuse for a mangy, flea-ridden son of a filthy—"

"STOP!"

"No! I WILL KILL YOU. I will tear your limbs apart, and watch as you bleed out on the floor, you slimy BASTARD!

_-oO~Oo-_

Professor Layton was in his study when the sound of shouting reached his ears. Early, when he heard Hilda's voice floating down the hallway, he had smiled softly, glad that Alfendi had company. Then the professor had become engrossed in his book, and awareness had slipped away from him, until suddenly angry yells reached his ears.

"Alfendi? Is everything alright?" the professor called out, hastily running out of his study and over to the parlor. What he saw when he reached the parlor nearly stopped his heart; Alfendi, crouched down, hair askew, eyes aglow, repeatedly slamming his head on the floor, yelling all the while.

"Alfendi! Alfendi, STOP!" cried the professor, rushing over, and grabbing his son's thin wrists. "Stop!" he repeated, desperately, and Al stared at him, golden eyes blazing. "Alfendi…Alfendi, what are you _doing_?! Are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay, old man!" Al snapped rudely, and the professor stared back at him with a growing sense of wonder. His son seemed…different. No, not different, but rather, the same as he used to be; the bright red hair, the fierce expression, the fiery eyes…this was the Al Professor Layton had begun to think was gone forever.

"Oh, Al…I'm so glad you're back…" the professor was not normally one given to displays of affection, but now, overcome with relief, Professor Layton embraced his son. Then he felt Alfendi stiffen in his arms, and, drawing back, he was shocked to see the change that had come over his son. Alfendi now seemed muted, with his hair a darker shade, his face still, his eyes empty. The Not-Alfendi had returned.

"I had hoped you would prefer me," Alfendi said quietly, eyes cast downward. "The wild one never appreciated you and what you've done for him. But I do, and I thought… well, clearly I was wrong. You don't love me. Hilda doesn't love me. You both love _him_, and I just can't understand why… I—I don't feel well…I'm going to my room."

The professor could only watch in dismay as Alfendi rose shakily to his feet, and stumbled out of the room, leaning against the wall for support. Oh my son, thought Professor Layton, what happened to you? Where did you go? He could only hope that someday Alfendi would be whole again—or that someone would come along that could love both halves of Alfendi equally.

_**A/N: So, this chapter is one of two things: the end, or the halfway point. It all depends on you guys. If there's enough interest, I will continue with this story; fast forward a few years, bring in Lucy, and present a new murder mystery. But if you all think this story has gone on long enough, or simply that this is the perfect ending, then I will end it here! Awesomest99er: why yes, I did mention you, and look, I did it again :) **__** The Mocking J: thank you! I think their individual personalities are all fascinating, so I'm glad they came through! As always, please follow/favorite/review, and thanks for reading!**_


	8. Chapter 8

A SHOT IN THE DARK

EPILOGUE

Weeks passed, then months, and finally it had been a year since the night Alfendi Layton and Keelan Makepeace shot each other on the rooftop of Forbodium Castle. A cursory investigation into the actions committed that night took place, and the death of Keelan Makepeace was ruled as Killing by Self-defense. No charges were brought against Alfendi Layton, who at the time was still recovering from injuries received that night.

Two weeks after the anniversary of Keelan Makepeace's death, Alfendi Layton requested that he resume duties as an Inspector at Scotland Yard. Due in part to a desire not to put undue stress on the young man, the Commissioner gave Layton his job back, albeit in a somewhat different form.

From now on, Alfendi Layton would be Chief Inspector in what was commonly known as The Mystery Room—a subdivision for all those cases deemed "inactive". Layton's role here would be nothing more strenuous than going over old, unsolved cases, and seeing if there was anything left to glean from them.

Much to everyone's surprise, after only a few months of working in The Mystery Room, Layton built a curious device that, after receiving sufficient data, could reconstruct a crime scene down to the last detail. Although Layton kept the details of how this device worked, it effects proved to be almost immediate; the amount of "inactive" cases solved doubled nearly overnight.

Despite the astounding new records, all was not always well in The Mystery Room. Layton's methods were odd, at best, and it soon proved to be impossible to find anyone who would actually work with him. Countless times the Commissioner transferred a bright young thing to work as Layton's assistant. Each one quit in about a month, with frightening regularity, all leaving with much the same complaints.

Layton was insane. He talked to himself all the time, sometimes even shouting with himself, to the point where it seemed he might start attacking his own being. But his mood swings were the worst problem. Sometimes he would kind, polite, and mild. Then, right when he had lured you into a false sense of security, he would snap, and become inexplicably violent, yelling invectives, cackling evilly, and striding about like one possessed.

There were times when the Commissioner flat-out considered firing Layton. But then he remembered the staggering amount of cases Layton had solved—and he recalled the days when a fiery-haired Inspector and his friends had been the best team of all Scotland Yard, the days when laughter filled their common room as often as did mocking yells. And now the Commissioner looked at the weird, twisted creature in the Mystery room, and he could not bring it upon himself to fire him.

All the Commissioner could do was hope that someday, things would return to the way they had been. That Justin Lawson would no longer look like a man with an impossible burden of guilt. That Hilda Pertinax would cease to freeze her features into a cold, fragile mask of contempt for everyone and everything. And that Alfendi Layton would cease flickering wildly from one side to another, and become whole once more. The Commissioner could only hope.

THE END

_**A/n: And that's all, folks! Thanks so much for reading and supporting this story! I had so much fun writing it (and no, Brandishing No.2 Pencils, I am not a psychopath, I swear, really). Now, after much hemming and hawing, I have decided to end this story after this wee little epilogue. HOWEVER, a sequel, entitled Fire Returned, is in the works, so keep an eye out for it! It will feature all of the same characters, plus Lucy Baker. Speaking of which, quick question for you guys; how do you feel about Lucifendi? I'm pretty sure I like it, and I will probably include it in the sequel, but I'd love to hear your thoughts! Again, thank you so much for reading, and blessings upon you forever more!**_


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